


I Never Ask

by missvalerietanner



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missvalerietanner/pseuds/missvalerietanner
Summary: Chris Redfield's perception of Jill post-RE5. Though I'm pro-Valenfield, it was interesting to explore the anti-Jill thoughts I think Chris would have had after witnessing her behavior under Wesker's control.[ written Jan. 22, 2016 ]





	I Never Ask

She never talks about what it was like, being under his control, and I never ask. It’s become our unspoken agreement. Sure, soon after we returned from Africa, once she had settled in, I pushed the issue. I hoped that if she talked about it, let the horrors of what he did to her break free and roam in this world, she wound find peace and freedom in their void. But she resisted, and I can still hear her empty words, her soft, guarded voice saying: _“I don’t remember.”_

But it’s a lie. She told us–Sheva and I–in a confession that still haunts me at night. She told us she was aware, conscious and knowing yet unable to stop, so I know she remembers. She must remember everything, and I suppose that’s why I pushed so hard for her to tell me. It’s not that I wanted to know because, if I were being honest, I’m terrified to know what she went through during those three years. I pushed because she shouldn’t bear the guilt alone. I can carry some of the weight, ease it off of her shoulders and bear the impression of her nightmares with a little more understanding. I would do that. I _want_ to do that.

But I never ask.

If I were to be truly honest, I’d admit that I am afraid of her. I always knew she was strong, capable, versatile. But she beat us, both of us. With Wesker standing by, it was two-on-one, and she stopped Sheva and me easily. It’s a strange feeling to not trust her, to not believe she’s on my side, but I can’t shake this odd worry that creeps into my mind. We’ve been to hell and back numerous times in the last fifteen years, but she hasn’t stayed the same. How could she? And sometimes when we’re sitting on the couch talking or eating dinner, I see the walls she’s built around herself. I see them rise and block away her emotions. She used to let me in, but now, I’m afraid to see what she’s hiding. 

And I know, there’s a question that lingers in her eyes. I can see it in the way she moves cautiously around me. I can see it reflected in the way she stares at me–stares through me until she snaps back to reality with a smile. She has a question she wants to ask me, but she won’t dare speak the words because that would make them real. That’s why I never ask because I know, eventually, she’ll turn to me with those hollow eyes and ask: _“What if it wasn’t all Wesker? What if I wanted to do those things?”_

I’m prepared to reply: _“It was all him. Of course it was all him. You were sick and in a weakened state, and he took advantage of you.”_

And no sooner than those words leave my mouth, I’m waiting for her to ask, _“If it was all his influence, then why are you afraid of me?”_

She killed people for him. I’m sure of it. I’ve made my peace with the idea in my own way. The Jill I know would never take a civilian’s life, but the Jill I found in Africa–would _she_?

Not a day goes by that I don’t regret every single moment of our time in the Spencer Estate. It should’ve been me who went through that window, not her. Never her. I’ve lost others, faced other disasters, but I still have nightmares about that day. Her primal scream, the shattering glass–it’ll always haunt me.

But I don’t talk about that, and she never asks.


End file.
